A Highland Knight's Desire (A Highland Dynasty Book)

by Amy Jarecki

  Duncan set the basket on the ground. “Are you hungry, lass?”

  She was about to say yes when she looked into his eyes. He stared at her with a hunger that had nothing to do with the need for food. She’d seen that look countless times, but now knew him well enough to know what he desired. Every fiber of her body had been craving for his touch, craving intimacy. She waggled her shoulders. “Hungry for you.”

  A deep chuckle rumbled from his throat and his eyes turned dark as obsidian. “Come here.” He drew her into his powerful arms. Before she could blink, his mouth covered hers with an unexpected wildness to his fervor. He all but consumed her in a rush of frantic kisses.

  Hard and long, Duncan molded his body to hers. Meg matched his passion, allowing her own suppressed yearnings to boil to the surface. Afire, she ground her hips to his while his hands slid down her back and grasped her buttocks.

  His lips trailed down her neck and atop the breasts that peeked above her scooped neckline. “Thank God you wore a gown with easy access.” With a flick of his finger, he loosed her laces and exposed her nipple. Licking, he swirled his tongue in an erotic dance.

  Meg’s breasts swelled and her thighs quavered. Duncan tugged her laces more. With trembling fingers, she helped him loosen them, then shrugged out of her gown. “I’ve lain awake each night with wanting for you.”

  “You too?” He pulled the plaid from the basket, spread it beside the pool, and then turned to her. “I have but one request.”

  “Aye?”

  He faced her, eyes still dark. “To gaze upon you completely naked.”

  She crossed her arms and brushed her hands along her shoulders. “’Tis not too cold?’

  He pulled her into his arms and kissed her as if he could swallow her whole. “I shall keep you warm.”

  She inhaled his scent laced with cloves. Her insides turned molten. “Only if you strip bare as well.”

  Chuckling, he unbuckled his belt and let his weapons fall. “I’m only too happy to oblige, m’lady.” He pulled the plaid from his waist and dropped it. Wearing his shirt, hose, and boots, he stepped forward. “Now you.”

  Meg uncrossed her arms and held them above her head. Duncan tugged her shift up and cast it aside. A cool breeze made the gooseflesh stand proud upon her skin. She felt chilled, yet afire while he slid his warm fingers down her sides and then slipped a hand between her legs. She parted slightly, and he teased her with his finger before he knelt to untie her garters. His nose only an inch from her sex, he closed his eyes and inhaled. “Merely the scent of you can bring me to my knees.”

  Meg shuddered. She knew exactly what he meant.

  After he’d removed her hose and slippers, Meg grasped his shoulders and pulled him up. His manhood strained against his shirt. Aye, he wanted her as much as she did him. Duncan didn’t wait. He yanked off his shirt and boots, but Meg held up her palm. “I shall remove your hose.” She knelt and untied the flashes, slowly smoothing his stockings down his muscular calves.

  As soon as his feet were free, he pulled her into his arms and crushed his mouth over hers. His body warmed her, his manhood brushed her abdomen, but she desperately needed him lower. Meg wrapped her leg around his and ground her mons into him.

  Duncan groaned. “I can hold back no longer.”

  “Me also.” Meg’s breathless words came whispered and fast.

  Taking her hand, Duncan led her to the plaid. He sat and looked up at her with a gleam in his eye. “Straddle me.”

  “We can do that?”

  His eyes grew wide. Then he looked left then right. “Who will stop us?”

  She complied, and his sex sat between the apex of her legs as if it were meant to be there. Kissing him, she rocked her hips so he slid up and down the place that craved him most.

  Duncan drew in a stuttered breath. “My God, my seed is about to erupt.”

  She placed her lips against his ear. “Take me, Duncan.”

  “I want you to ride me.” He lay back and grasped her hips. No words needed. He lifted her up. Taking his manhood in her hand, she guided it into her core. With a moan, Duncan’s eyes rolled back, and then he stared at her as if she were the only woman in the world.

  With his urging hands, Meg moved along his shaft until his manhood brushed a place that begged for more. If she stopped, she’d die. Faster and faster, Meg rocked her hips, craving friction, the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside her body. A shrill cry caught in the back of her throat, and the heavens opened with blessed, shattering release.

  Duncan roared and drove his hips faster, plunging into her as his eyes lost their focus. “God’s teeth, woman. You will send me mad before we are married.”

  Meg collapsed atop his body. “’Tis exactly why I want word from Arthur so quickly. Nights without you in my arms are torture.”

  He smoothed his hands up her breasts and kneaded her, the friction building again. How could he turn her into such a wanton with his mere touch? “I want you in my bed forever.”

  Drawing in a ragged breath, Meg covered him with her body and captured his mouth with a kiss. She then tasted his skin—the saltiness of his powerful neck, his smooth jaw, his eyes, his brow. Never in her life would she gain her fill of Duncan Campbell.

  “You are so fine to me, Lady Meg.” He rolled her to her side. Drawing the plaid across their bodies, he faced her. “So what do you think of my Highlands?”

  She grinned with a low chuckle. “All this fresh Highland air grows fine-looking men, I’ll say.”

  “Aye, but the Lowland lassies are not to be rivaled.”

  “I do not know. Your sisters are beautiful.”

  Duncan smiled and reclined on his back. “They are lovely. And now that Da is gone, ’tis up to me to find them husbands.”

  Oh how wonderful it was when a window opened. Meg rose up on her elbow. “You know, Gyllis quite fancies Sir Sean.”

  “Sir Sean?” Duncan blinked twice and grimaced. “That flea-bitten son of a dog?”

  Meg rested her head on his chest and smoothed her hand through his downy-soft hair. “Pardon? He will be the next MacDougall chieftain—”

  “Do you not think I ken? None of my men will ever marry one of my sisters. ’Tis . . . ’tis . . .”

  Meg gazed at his face. “What?”

  The corners of his mouth drew downward as if he were entirely baffled. “They’re practically as close as siblings. Besides, Sir Sean did not earn the moniker ‘Lusty Laddie’ for naught.” Duncan eyed her with an air of distaste. “He has an affinity for the lassies.”

  A laugh spewed from her lips, and she clapped her fingers over her mouth to stanch it. She wanted this to be a serious conversation. “And you were a monk before you met me?”

  “That is entirely different.”

  Gyllis was right. Duncan could be bullheaded when it came to his sisters. “Hmm.” Meg trailed her fingers down his well-muscled abdomen, not quite ready to change the subject. “Pity. Gyllis is the only lass I’ve seen him eyeing since I’ve been here. A match between them would solve one of your problems.”

  “He’d better keep his lusty eyes from my sister.” Duncan sat up. “Enough. There is no way would I allow Sean MacDougall to court Gyllis. We shan’t speak of it again.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Now where’s that damned basket? I’m famished.”

  Meg swallowed her urge to giggle. Perhaps Duncan needed a little time to consider her suggestion. Thank heavens she’d mentioned it away from the keep and Gyllis. “I do hope you’ve brought some watered wine. I’m ever so thirsty.”

  Duncan set two tankards on the plaid, held up a flagon, swirled it and sniffed. “Me thinks ’tis ale.”

  “That will do.” Meg craned her neck and peered at the basket. “What other surprises did Cook prepare for us?”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Duncan sat in the laird’s seat at the high table with his family and Lady Meg by his side. A lone messenger wearing the king’s colors marched up the aisle, and the hal
l grew silent.

  Duncan stood and met the man at the dais steps. “What news?”

  He reached inside his cloak. “I’ve a missive from the king.”

  Meg gasped behind him.

  Trepidation raising his hackles, Duncan accepted the parchment and slid his thumb under the seal of King James.

  “What does it say?” Lady Margaret asked before he could unfold it.

  Duncan ignored her and read. A weight lifted from his shoulders. He handed the missive to Meg. “Thank God.”

  “What is it?” Mother stood and rushed to him.

  “I’ve received a pardon.” He grinned and thrust up his fists in triumph. “Both charges against me have been rescinded,” he bellowed for all to hear.

  The entire hall erupted in cheers. Clansmen and women pounded the hilts of their daggers on the tables. The pipers on the balcony launched into a round of the pibroch of the Campbells whilst every soul stood and sang.

  A tear streamed down Meg’s porcelain cheek, and he drew her into his arms. “I am a man truly blessed.”

  “The view is spectacular from here,” Gyllis said, staring out over Loch Awe.

  “Aye, it surely is.” Meg wasn’t looking at the lake, but rather stared at the men sparring in the courtyard. “The battlements give an ideal vantage point to a great many things.” With a sigh, she leaned through a crenel notch.

  “Och, not there, silly,” Gyllis said.

  “No?” Meg waved her over. “On that I disagree.”

  Gyllis slid into the notch beside her and rested her chin on her palms. “Oh yes, I see what you mean.”

  Meg fanned her face. “Unfortunate the knights have forgotten their shirts.”

  “Mm . . .” By her lack of ability to speak, Gyllis must have spotted Sir Sean MacDougall sparring with Sir Robert Robinson. Formidable opponents they made, but Meg’s eyes strayed to the black-haired knight clashing swords with Sir Eoin.

  She could never tire of watching Duncan with or without his clothing. But today he gave her a special treat. He wore his plaid belted low across his hips and sparred with his back to her. His sturdy waist flared until it met with powerful shoulders.

  Even from the top of the wall-walk, she could see his muscles ripple beneath his glistening skin. And Duncan was nearly a head taller than all the other men in the courtyard. Meg doubted a one of them could best him. He advanced on Eoin, swinging his sword in his right hand and brandishing a targe in his left. Eoin deflected Duncan’s most savage blows. Meg bit her bottom lip. Their war play was not barbaric, but so fluid, it looked like a dance.

  The two men circled, weapons held high, awaiting the next strike. Eoin lunged in. Duncan scooted aside, and it was on yet again.

  “He’s incredibly beautiful,” Gyllis said.

  Meg blinked, as if popping out of a trance. “Aye.”

  “And faster than a fox.”

  Meg sighed.

  “And his chestnut hair glistens with streaks of copper when the sunlight hits it just right.”

  Meg glanced to her future sister-in-law and smacked her shoulder. “You’re not watching Duncan, are you?”

  “Nay, silly. What lassie would want to watch her brother spar?”

  Meg recalled watching Arthur with the guard and cringed. “Most certainly not I. My brother needs an army in front as well as behind him.”

  Gyllis leaned into her. “Do you think you’ll hear from Lord Douglas soon?”

  “I hope so. Nearly two fortnights have passed since Duncan sent the missive to Arthur. Soon it will be an entire month.”

  A sword clattered to the cobblestones. Both women peered through the crenel notch to watch Sir Sean retrieve it, then he turned and grinned up at them.

  “Isn’t he dashing?” Gyllis rose up on her toes and waved with a smile full of sunshine.

  Meg chuckled. The lass was smitten indeed.

  When Sean resumed sparring, Gyllis sighed. “You’d think the men wouldn’t need to practice so hard since Duncan received the pardon from the king.”

  “Aye, they no longer have the king’s ire to worry about, but these are trying times. The men can never let their guards down, especially with the work the Highland Enforcers carry out for the king.” Meg leaned out until she dared not go any farther. Craning her neck, she could no longer see Duncan.

  Gyllis sighed and sat in the crenel. “I wish every day could be as dreamy as this.”

  “I’ll say. Perhaps we could practice dancing in the courtyard after the men finish sparring. Beltane is coming. We can brush up on our May Day dances.”

  Gyllis clapped her hands. “I think you have a splendid idea.”

  “And what, pray tell, is that?” Duncan’s deep voice rumbled behind them.

  Meg quickly straightened. “We were talking about practicing the May Day dances in the courtyard later.” She curtsied. “Will you come?”

  “I’ve far too many things to attend. Besides, my days as a practice partner are over.”

  Meg shot a glance at Gyllis. “Perhaps we’ll have to ask Sir Sean to join us.”

  Gyllis nodded like a woodpecker hammering a tree. “Aye.”

  “Och, are all women schemers? I’ll see to it Sir Sean has his hands full this afternoon as well.”

  “Why, you’re no fun at all.” Meg grasped his elbow. “What brought you up here? Are you finished sparring already?”

  He gave her a sideways look, one that made butterflies swarm throughout her insides. “We must talk.”

  “Oh? Is that why you cut short today’s practice?”

  “Aye.” He placed a hand upon Meg’s shoulder and looked at his sister. “Gyllis, would you please excuse us?”

  Meg pointed toward the courtyard. “Go find Sir Sean to see if he’ll partner with us for dancing practice.”

  Duncan frowned. “You’d best leave him alone and report to your mother. I’m sure she’ll have something for you to tend to.”

  Gyllis headed toward the stairwell. “I like Lady Meg’s suggestion better.”

  “Insufferable women. Now that John’s gone you’re all ganging up on me.”

  Meg chuckled. “Is the poor lord of the keep being bullied by a mob of lassies?”

  “Wheesht, woman, and come with me.” He led her down a flight of stairs into a small chamber where the guards upon the wall kept their weapons. He bolted the door.

  Meg’s stomach squelched. “What you came to discuss must be very grave indeed, m’lord.”

  He slid his fingers to the back of her neck, his gaze lowering to her mouth. “It is. Most grave.” He brushed his lips across hers ever so slightly. “Of utmost urgency.”

  Moaning, Meg welcomed him while he deepened the pressure, his lips hot and demanding. Her breathing quickened. Her body instantly alive with need for him.

  Growling, Duncan pulled his lips away. “When I saw you watching down below, I could not wait another moment.”

  Meg pressed her body against his and swirled her hips. “If only . . .”

  Duncan covered her mouth and lifted her by the waist, setting her on the bench behind them. “Let me between your legs.”

  Her insides ready to erupt, she complied and pulled his mouth down to hers. Frantically kissing her, he tugged up her skirts until the air cooled her sex. But it wasn’t enough to quell her insatiable yearning. She tugged on his belt.

  Duncan raised his kilt. Meg glanced down. His manhood jutted between them, demanding not to be ignored.

  Her breath stuttered as she slid her hips closer to him. “I want you.”

  “You’ve nearly brought me undone.” His words came out in short bursts with urgency.

  Meg slid her fingers down and helped coax him toward her. “I can wait no longer.”

  With one long thrust, Duncan entered her, a shuddering moan rolling from his throat.

  Sweet release came fast for them both.

  Panting, Meg clung to him. She opened her eyes and looked at the assortment of weapons surrounding them, and then to h
er bare knees. “This is an armory?”

  Duncan cringed. “’Tis worse than the larder.” The place of their last tryst.

  Meg rested her head upon his chest. “And the embrasure in your mother’s chamber.”

  He held up a finger. “But that was a stroke of genius. Mother would never have thought to look for us there.”

  Meg couldn’t help but laugh. “If we do not receive word from Arthur in the next sennight, we will need to wed immediately.”

  Duncan kissed her temple. “Perhaps I should send another missive.”

  “Heavens, by the time we receive word, our firstborn will be walking.”

  He grasped her shoulders and held her at arm’s length. “Are you with child?”

  “I think not.” Meg counted back. So many things had happened, she couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen her courses.

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes. No. Possibly.” Heat prickled her skin. Ah yes, it had been at least six sennights since her last show. “Perhaps I’m late.”

  Before Duncan had the chance to respond, the ram’s horn blew three times. Their eyes met, and Meg’s shoulders tensed. She didn’t need Duncan to tell her three blares was not a good sign. “An attack?”

  “Mayhap.” Duncan stepped back and adjusted his belt. “Unknown riders approach, that is a certainty.” He helped Meg hop down from the table and smooth her skirts. “Find my mother and the lasses. Lock yourselves in my solar until I come for you.”

  Meg flung her arms around him. “Duncan, no. I cannot hide whilst you face some unknown enemy.”

  He gave her a firm squeeze. “Do as I say. I’ll not see you hurt. Quickly now.”

  Her heart racing, Meg descended the tower steps, but stopped at a narrow window—one used by the archers. Clutching her hand to her chest, she gasped. The approaching army carried none other than the Douglas pennant. “My God, Arthur. What are you thinking?”